


gonna make it through this year (if it kills me)

by PoppaeaSabina (AellaIrene)



Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Babies, Multi, Polyamory, Time Travel, dub con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-15
Updated: 2018-05-15
Packaged: 2019-05-07 11:53:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14670536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AellaIrene/pseuds/PoppaeaSabina
Summary: When Ellen Landry wakes up on Starbase 42 after the tardigrade's attack, she's glad to be alive. The last thing she's expecting is a visit from Gabriel Lorca's wife.Matilda Cornwell's surprised to see Ellen. Surprised, and pleased. After all, for the last thirty years, she's been sure Ellen was going to die on theDiscovery. If that can change, then maybe Tilly will have a chance to save the people, and Federation, she loves.





	gonna make it through this year (if it kills me)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LizBee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LizBee/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Mother-In-Law's Tongue](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12920751) by [LizBee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LizBee/pseuds/LizBee). 



> Thank you to Ankaret and Valtyr, for your noble work in betaing this. Anything that does not make sense is my fault, and mine alone.
> 
> Especial thanks to Lizbee, who allowed me to play in her sandbox, make liberal use of her headcanon, and steal her original characters. This fic is for you.

_Don’t let her sacrifice be in vain._ Lorca’s words echo around Michael’s skull. She’s pointedly alone in the mess, as if the rest of the ship agree with Saru, recognise her as a bringer of death. 

_Don't let her sacrifice be in vain._

They've evacuated Landry to Starbase 42, the location of the nearest hospital capable of dealing with her injuries. All the _Discovery's_ crew could do was stabilise her, pump blood into her and make sure she wasn't losing any more. By the time she reaches Starbase 42, the damage may be too advanced for the doctors to help her.

_Her sacrifice._

Michael has been on the _Discovery_ less than a week, and the Chief of Security is already severely injured. At least Lorca does not seem inclined to blame her. He demands results, yes, but that is logical, under the circumstances. He has known Commander Landry for some time.

"There you are!" Tilly says brightly, coming up behind her left shoulder. "I thought we were getting lunch together?"

"We were," Michael says, shifting so Tilly can pull a seat up. Tilly’s back is defensively straight, her voice has a touch of defiance to it, and if Michael didn’t want comfort quite so much, she would urge Tilly not to expend her political capital on being Michael’s friend. It is an emotional course of action, not a logical one.

“How’s Ripper?” Tilly asks, reaching out so that her hand is next to Michael’s, not touching, but close enough that Michael could touch it, if she wanted to.

“Staying at the back of the cell. Refusing to eat.” Michael feels like a kindred spirit to Ripper, right now, trying to heal in the darkness, to escape that which would hurt her.

This is necessary, and Michael has her orders, but that does not mean she enjoys it.

Stamets sits down next to them.

“Why are you moping?” he demands, looking suspicious.

“Commander Landry--” Tilly starts.

“She’s not dead,” Stamets says briskly, “Injured, yes, dead, no. She'll probably recover, and if she doesn't, that's hardly your fault. Hugh!"

Dr Culber, who had been heading towards them anyway, stops and raises an eyebrow.

"What?"

"Come here and provide reassurance to Burnham!"

“We just heard from Starbase 42,” Culber says, “Landry’s in surgery, it looks good.” He leans in. “Here’s something to distract you, Dr Pollard was getting the report off their nurse, and the nurse said Lorca’s wife is also on Starbase 42.”

“Lorca’s _wife_? He’s _married_?”

“Uh-huh. She was on the _Châtelet_ , apparently, when they ran into those raiders.”

“Well,” says Stamets, “You wouldn’t have known, would you?”

It’s true, Lorca’s only visible reaction when they got the news about the evacuation of the _Châtelet_ , in the Beta Quadrant, came through was a tic in his jaw.

“I can’t believe everyone made it off,” Tilly says, “Well, nearly everyone.”

“Not like the _Buran_ ,” says Stamets, and Culber sighs at him. “What! I’m just saying--”

“Yeah, well _try_ not just saying it in the _Mess_ , Paul.”

Michael stares down at her soup. Tilly shifts a little closer, warm and reassuring and there, and Michael presses their shoulders together, companionably.

"What was the _Châtelet_ even doing?" Stamets asks, distracted. "I heard someone mention time travel, but that seems unlikely, given how parsimonious the Fleet's being about _my_ research."

"Oh!" says Tilly perking up, "No, that's a joke!"

Even Michael knows that joke. "If it's classified," she explains, "It's time travel."

"Like the _Enterprise One_ papers," Tilly adds. "You know they're classified through 2560? Everyone says that's when they'll no longer give away the secret of time travel. People on other ships are probably saying that _we're_ looking into time travel."

"It's an interesting concept," muses Stamets, "Now that we have Ripper-- there are tardigrade fossils dating back to the Cambrian era which are almost indistinguishable from modern tardigrades, we have no way of knowing if Ripper _can_ travel in time--"

"But we'd all prefer it if you didn't smear us across five galaxies finding out, Paul," Dr Culber says, touching his wrist. Michael hurriedly looks away.

“Landry’s alive,” Tilly repeats, soft below Culber and Stamets’ bickering.

“Yes,” Michael says, “Yes, she is.”

*

Consciousness comes slowly. Pain comes with it. The pain, though, Ellen realises, matching it to her last memory, the pain is good, agonising though it is, because she can feel her legs, her feet, and that means they’re probably still there. 

The first few times, she only has long enough to realise that she’s conscious, and _oww_ before she passes out again. Eventually, she’s awake long enough for the nurses to notice, to talk to her, to say reassuring things like “Your spine will heal,” and “You’re doing well.” 

Ellen wants to ask questions about that, but they’ve got her on the good painkillers, and she drifts off before she gets a chance.

The next time she wakes up, a doctor’s there, ready to roll off a spiel of _we are regrowing a fuckload of nerves in your back. It will hurt. The good news is, you will walk and also have not picked up an infection from the space monster that tried to rip your spine out from the front._ There was a lot of regenerator work, apparently, and a long road of physio ahead, but the med crew on _Discovery_ kept her alive, and salvaged what they could, cut away what they couldn't, and when the top half of the bed rises, there's a lot less of her than she's used to seeing, in a way that would probably make her stomach pitch if that wasn't part of the 'less', and so completely numb.

"Do you have any questions?" the doctor finishes, with a Tellarite expression of curiosity.

"Tell me about the war," she manages. What she means is _tell me about_ Discovery, but the _Discovery's_ work is classified.

The doctors tell her about the _Discovery_ anyway. They saved Corvan II, and broke the Klingon supply line at Benzar. There's not much else good news, and no one wants to give her the bad. 

At least Burnham hasn't fucked up another ship, and Stamets pulled that miracle everyone was hoping for out from his ass.

Ellen wonders how they're managing without her. How they'll keep managing without her, because the doctors have made it clear she's a good six months away even from desk duty, probably more from getting back on a ship, and Ellen picked her people as best she could, but this is a war, and the best of the best were gone already.

Or they died at the Binary Stars, like the second Ellen would have picked if she'd had the chance.

Tendō should be Chief of Security, unless there's been another disaster since that's picked her off. Tendō will keep them steady, and Saru can probably-- not manage Lorca, he doesn't need managing so much as he needs a sounding board, and one of his own from Security works best, but Saru's got that air of being a terrifying motherfucker about to let loose, and he knows Burnham of old, so he can keep an eye on her.

It still doesn't make Ellen feel any better about it all.

Now that Ellen's conscious, the nurses tell her, they want to keep her that way. Not that she should exert herself, of course, they're very clear about that, but she's allowed audiobooks, a PADD with novels and light non-fiction on.

"Do you feel up to visitors?" Nurse Taube asks, when she's finished with Ellen's course of regeneration for the day. 

"Who?" Ellen asks, genuinely confused-- one of her dads lives on Archer's Planet, and the other's working on Barzan II.

"Captain Cornwell. She's one of our patients."

Still? Ellen heard she was on the _Châtelet_ , heard the Chatty had gone down, but evacuated all of the personnel, but that was more than a week ago, and when she'd asked, all Lorca had said was "She'll be okay."

Thinking about it now, without the cloud of relief and concern about the _Discovery_ , that isn't very much.

"Yes," Ellen says, "Yes, I'll see her," and Taube comes back fifteen minutes later to say the Captain will be up at 15:30, and Ellen should try and conserve her strength until then.

The curiosity niggles. The curiosity, and the potential awkwardness. Lorca is married to Captain Cornwell, and Admiral Cornwell. Ellen had served with him and Cornwell on the _Tiberius_ , once upon a time.

And she'd fucked them after. Not Admiral Cornwell, things had never aligned that way, but both of her spouses. Ellen hadn't been under either of their commands then, and, with the way the Fleet worked, no one had really expected her to be again.

At 15:30, Captain Matilda Cornwell sets the chimes going, and comes in at Ellen's gesture to open the doors.

"Hey," she says, and pulls over a visitor's chair, sinking down into it. "How are you feeling?"

"Not dead," Ellen says briefly. "You?"

She's definitely looked better. Even without the way that everyone looks ill in Fleet patients' scrubs, she looks tired and worn, though the only visible injury's a cut just below her hairline. Her hair’s beginning to fade, but that happens to redheads.

"I had a baby less than two weeks ago," Cornwell says, reflexively touching her stomach. "At twenty four weeks gestation."

"Oh," Ellen says faintly, and then "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't know."

Lorca never mentioned her being pregnant. Ellen would have-- sent something. Stuffed animal? Set of 'My Mom's an Admiral' onesies? Rachel’s nearly twenty two, they'll have gotten rid of all their baby crap. 

Fuck. She can't believe Lorca knocked his wife up a month into the-- no, wait, that would have been just after the _Buran_ , she can absolutely see Lorca getting his wife pregnant in the fervour of 'thank god we're alive'. The way he fucked Ellen, the first time on _Discovery_ , she was a little surprised she didn’t get knocked up herself, tied tubes and all. Part of her wants to ask if it was on purpose, or they just assumed that, with Matilda in her early fifties, they could ease off a bit on being careful.

"Congratulations," she adds, and Cornwell shrugs. Boy or girl?"

"Girl. Anna. But really, Ellen, how are you?"

She reaches for Ellen's hand, wrapping her fingers around, and over to kiss her forehead. Ellen breathes in, and out, smells her shampoo, the tang of disinfectant and antiseptic.

"I'm so glad you're not dead," Cornwell whispers, and Ellen tightens her grip on her hand.

"I am too," she says. Cornwell’s taken her wedding ring off, though Ellen can see the marks where it lay. It makes the hand-holding more comfortable.

“How did he seem to you? Gabriel?”

The change of subject makes Ellen blink.

"He seemed--" _Tired. Stressed. Convinced that Michael Burnham is going to solve our problems._

"Yeah," Cornwell says, and looks down. "Like that, huh?"

Ellen is really not feeling up to marriage counselling.

"It's this fucking war," she says, hoping that works, and Cornwell lifts her head, leans in closer.

"What if I told you it wasn't."

"Have you been-- having problems?" Ellen can't imagine it. Those three are solid, as solid as Vulcan.

"It isn't him," Cornwell says, very slowly. "The Gabriel on _Discovery_. He’s not our Gabriel. He’s from another timeline. He replaced our Lorca, and he's been pretending to be him."

She waits for Ellen's response, tense and trembling, biting her lower lip, and this-- this isn't so much out of left field as out of the stands.

"Are you-- feeling okay?" Ellen says, because-- having kids does weird shit to your hormones, that's one of the reason Ellen, personally, doesn't want any.

"You don't believe me," Cornwell says, and snorts. "Of course you don't. My own fucking wife doesn’t believe me.”

"You've said this to the Admiral?"

"She was the first person I told, but she hasn't seen him since-- since the switch, not for more than a couple of hours, and I thought--" She shakes her head. "Never mind."

"You just suggested that your husband is an imposter," Ellen snaps, "So I really do fucking mind." She winces, because she's pulling on the regenerated skin, and Cornwell reaches out to touch her shoulder, keep her still.

“Ellen--” she says, sounding tired, worn out.

“Are you listening to yourself?” Ellen demands. “Are you listening to what you’re actually saying? Alternate _fucking timelines_?”

One of the nurses materialises at the door, face carefully blank, “Is everything okay?” and Ellen’s first instinct is to tell them, to repeat what Cornwell just _fucking said_.

Cornwell would let her, is the thing. She’s just sitting there, waiting for Ellen to say something, like some sort of fucking martyr, and Ellen-- doesn’t say it.

“Everything’s fine,” Ellen says, “No problems here.” 

Everything’s fine, except Ellen’s occasional lover just might be losing her mind.

It wouldn’t be the first time. Ellen remembers asking, once, just curious, tracing the stretchmarks on her stomach and asking-- “What was it like?”, Cornwell’s sleepy answer, “Weird. Different both times-- Rachel was physically harder than the twins, but with the twins I had post partum depression, complete with hallucinations.”

Ellen can tell someone later. If she’s saying this sort of thing to the Admiral, her doctors already know, and just because it’s weird, hearing this voice she knows and trusts saying these stupid, impossible things-- Maybe this is why she’s still here, not just the baby. Admiral Cornwell’s based out of Starbase 42, there should be quarters somewhere, space. 

The nurse looks between them again, and says, “Just call if you need anything. Either of you.”

“We will,” Ellen says, because Cornwell isn’t saying anything, and she just looks at the nurse until the man heads off.

Cornwell just sits there, hands folded in her lap, waiting.

“I want an explanation,” Ellen says, “Why would you even think--”

Cornwell gathers her hair back, lifts it up, and says, “Oh, Commander, I’m not, I mean, I think I might--” her voice is lighter, her intonation different, the whole thing so unsure-- and really fucking familiar.

“ _Tilly_?”

The woman who cannot, absolutely cannot, be Sylvia Tilly lets her hair fall back down around her shoulders, and she’s Cornwell again. Matilda Cornwell. Tilly Cornwell.

“What the _fucking fuck_?” Ellen says.

“That’s how I know,” Tilly says. “I’ve seen this happen. I didn’t say anything before to maintain the timeline, but that’s different now, and I can _fix this_.”

“How?” Ellen manages, “How do you know it won’t disrupt the timeline?”

“Because you’re alive.”

Ellen just stares at her, blank. “This is bullshit,” she hisses, because it is, all of it

“Tell me he hasn’t _changed_ ,” Tilly says back, fervent. “He didn’t fuck you on the _Buran_ , did he? He’d never have dreamed of fucking his first officer. But it took him what, two days after getting onto the _Discovery_?”

One, actually. One, but it was the war, and Ellen hadn’t seen him in a year, and they’d both lost so much when the _Buran_ was destroyed, and they hadn’t seen each other in so long, and--

But all that’s just excuses. When she left the _Buran_ , when she took that post at Utopia Planitia, Lorca didn’t fuck her then. His congratulatory hand on her shoulder was perfectly professional. His smile might have made her go warm, but neither of them acted on it. 

_You don’t fuck your chain of command_. It’s the first rule of Starfleet Polyamory. The first time Ellen met them, she was an Ensign, and the first time she fucked them, she was a Lieutenant Commander, and she did not have the faintest idea, until she was long off the _USS Tiberius_ , that either of them had ever even thought about taking her to bed.

“I’ll let you think about it,” Tilly--Cornwell--this woman Ellen doesn’t really know anymore, when she thought she knew her _biblically_ , says, and stands up. It takes her a moment to sort her balance out, Ellen sees her steady herself on the chair.

Traumatic birth, maybe. At twenty four weeks, it would probably be hard for it not to be.

“I will,” Ellen says, and she will, because she isn’t sure where the hell she does from here.

“I really am,” Tilly adds, very carefully, “ _So_ fucking glad you aren’t dead.”

It takes on a new meaning now. Tilly expected Ellen to die. When they first met, Tilly thought she knew how and when Ellen would die, and she never breathed a word.

“Yeah,” Ellen says, and leaves it at that.

*

When Ellen was twenty two, an Ensign so new she practically squeaked when she walked, her first assignment was on the _USS Tiberius_ , under the command of Captain Robert April. It was a big ship, Captain April knew their names, sure, had an idea of who they were, but he was focused on higher things. The people who checked in on Ellen, who kept what, with the benefit of hindsight, she realises was a careful eye on her, on all of them, they were Commander Cornwell, the XO, and Commander Lorca, the temporary head of security after the last one had an accident dirtside.

“He touched a shiny rock,” says Lieutenant Shen, who has five years of experience on Ellen, one of them on the _Tiberius_ , and is also keeping an eye on Ellen, in a less official way. “When you are told not to touch the shiny rock, Landry _do not touch the fucking shiny rock_.”

“Or the shiny fucking rock,” says Rensky from engineering, and raises her hand for a high five. Shen just looks at her.

“Don’t worry about fucking rocks,” Shen promises Landry. “That usually happens to the command crew. That’s April and Cornwell’s problem.”

“Or, we hope, April and Dr Mulvaney’s problem,” Rensky says, “Or--”

“Ladi!” Shen says, and then, “Seriously, don’t worry.”

So Ellen doesn't. She's got so much else to be worrying about: her duty shifts, learning her way around the _Tiberius_ , where to sit at meals, everyone's names.

When Commander Cornwell comes up to the replicator next to her, orders green juice with extra green, and gives her an assessing look, Landry has a brief moment of wondering how she could have fucked up so spectacularly so quickly.

"Landry, right?" the Commander says, and Ellen nods.

"Yes sir."

"Relax," the Commander adds, picking up her glass. "I just like to check in with the newbies. Everything alright?"

"Yes," says Ellen, not that she'd tell Cornwell if it weren't, not standing in the middle of the mess.

Cornwell nods. "If you need anything-- advice, if you have concerns, my door is always open." She heads off to a table where Commander Lorca and Dr Mulvaney are sitting already, heads together.

Ellen learnt pretty early on at the Academy that, as a pansexual Human female, a certain amount of her commanders and instructors would generate a reaction of 'Oh no. They're hot.' The Tiberius is no exception. Not the Captain, thank fuck, or Dr Mulvaney-- mostly because they spend a surprising amount of time tensely eyefucking each other, and Ellen is not an idiot, but Cornwell-- Ellen very definitely has an aesthetic appreciation of Matilda Cornwell. She's a curvy redhead who spends a lot of time leaning over consoles in tight trousers, and her response when they were hailed by Orion smugglers when she was on the bridge was a thing of beauty, and Ellen has so far been fine admiring her from afar, safe in the knowledge that Cornwell probably doesn’t know who she is.

Commander Lorca, who is after all her commander, is a whole nother issue. He’s...okay, he’s a lot. He’s good-looking, and he takes the time to be charming, though how much of that is automatic Ellen doesn’t know, and-- he really is _unfairly_ good-looking.

Ellen’s third time dirtside, things go south. They're cut off from the rest of the away team by a group of what the local government referred to, offhandedly, as 'dissidents', who turn out to be furious at what they see as the unfair distribution of the resources the Federation's committed to help deal with a humanitarian crisis. 

They also turn out to be less than united among themselves.

"What the _untranslateable_?" snaps one of them, mandibles grinding, at the small party which found Lorca and Ellen and brought them into their secret cave hideout.

"Just because you're an _untranslateable_!" snaps the head of the party, and Lorca and Ellen share a momentary gaze of _Why do the universal translators have to fail us_ now _?_

" _Untranslateable_!" the leader yells, and Lorca says, "Can we talk?" and the yelling of the leader, and the buzzing from everyone else, which is apparently also giving the UTs trouble, fades just in time for someone at the other side of the cave to say "--going to bomb us to _pieces_!" into the silence.

"No one is bombing anyone," Lorca says clearly. "We're here on a humanitarian mission. If you have concerns about your representation, you can take those to my Captain. Your government have requested Federation aid, and Federation assistance, and have made commitments to the fair distribution of that aid."

They don't agree immediately. But they do agree eventually. The days on this planet are 32 hours long, and it's fading into a baking evening when they're finally led out of the cool caves, and their communicators start working again, halfway through a broadcast "-- _act of aggression against the Federation, which will be responded to. I repeat, this is Commander Matilda Cornwell of the_ USS Tiberius--"

"This is Commander Lorca," Lorca says, tapping his comm. "We've got a hell of a story, _Tiberius_. Can you get a lock on our position?"

"We can," says Cornwell, after only a momentary pause, "Two to beam up?"

"Two to beam up. Where's the Captain?"

"Planetside," Cornwell says briefly, and Ellen feels the slight coolness of the beam, locking onto her communicator and depositing her in Transporter Room 3.

"Well," says Lorca, stepping off the transporter pad. "Let's try to never do that again--" and then Commander Cornwell walks through the door, a security team on her, and he raises his hands and says "It's me."

"Your clone would also say that," Cornwell points out. "Get off the pad, Landry, the Captain's coming up next."

Ellen hastily gets off the pad. Her legs feel wobbly with the release of tension, the sudden safety, and she gives up and sits down while they go through the DNA reference scan.

Lorca's already passed, and she's a little surprised to see him reach for Cornwell's hands, holding them for a brief moment before Cornwell says, "Gabriel," very quietly, and he lets go.

"Let me guess," he says, "You were already writing the letter home in which you told Kat you could take my death in service benefits and move to Risa--"

"Risa is a pit of debauchery, we can't raise the kids on Risa," Cornwell says, almost automatically, and then the Captain and the medics turn up simultaneously.

"Didn't you know?" Shen says, that evening, when they're sat in the Mess, "They're married. To someone else as well. They have four kids."

“Married,” Ellen manages, and Lieutenant Shen pats her shoulder. 

“I’m sorry. It’s one of those things, where you know, and you can’t imagine--”

“Fuck,” Ellen says, involuntarily remembering multiple fantasies, and drops her head against the table top. "Why didn’t you mention _them_ during the sex pollen discussion?”

“I was going to!” says Rensky, “You _see_ , Shen!”

Ellen checks the database anyway. Note that she doesn’t believe it, but, as Lorca says, trust but verify.

Gabriel Lorca, Katrina Cornwell and Matilda Cornwell registered their marriage in 2229, when they were twenty five, twenty nine, and twenty four respectively. There are four attached records, with the redacted names that means the subjects are minors. Captain Katrina Cornwell, formerly of Starfleet Medical, has attended command training, and now commands the USS Al-Zahrawi.

Ellen-- honestly hadn't guessed. Not only that they were married, not everyone gets married, but they're even less obvious than the Captain and Dr Mulvaney, though _they_ are the subject of a UST betting pool involving many many favours. 

Now, though, she sees them differently, sees things she never saw before.

One of those is the kissing. There’s a social, and she sees them in a corner, Lorca pressing Cornwell against the wall with his body, long and slow and filthy, and Ellen's throat goes dry just looking at them across a room.

Ellen knows she probably shouldn’t be watching, not then, and not when Lorca pulls back and brackets Cornwell with his forearms, leaning down over her while she looks up at him with her face all tender, like she’s been cracked open.

Ellen goes off, and gets another drink, and tries not to think about it, about the way it makes her feel tender, like an echo, because they are both her superior officers, and they are married to each other.

A week later, they put into Deep Space Three for repairs, the sort of thing you can do in space, but is safer done on-station, and everyone except this time's skeleton crew heads straight for the pub. They're not the only ones there: this is the bar where all the officers go, to see if anyone else they know is also on station, and Ellen follows Rensky, who promptly goes off to catch up with someone who came in with the USS Maathai. Ellen herself doesn't have anyone she knows in port at the moment, so she grabs a drink, and goes to find somewhere to sit.

The first corner she finds, Commander Lorca's kissing a man in it.

Ellen doesn't drop her beer. She just stands there, blinking, because-- Lorca's kissing a man. Lorca's married. Lorca's married twice over and he's kissing someone else, and Ellen has one horrible moment where she is completely unsure of what to do, because he is her superior officer, but apparently he is also--

"Landry," says Commander Cornwell from just behind her. "Relax."

Lorca pulls back, "Hey, Till. Look who's here."

Cornwell raises a hand. "Hey, Matt."

"Hey, gorgeous," says Matt, and Cornwell says, "I'll leave you two to it. With me, Landry."

"Yes," says Lorca, "We'll--" he gestures to the door, and kisses Cornwell's cheek on his way out, and Matt kisses the other, and Cornwell waves them both off, and takes Landry to a booth.

"So," she says. "We're poly. Open poly, not closed."

"Oh," says Ellen, inanely-- she'd guessed, when Cornwell was so completely okay with it. Cornwell leans across the booth towards her.

"You've probably heard all about how the only person who can understand what being in the Fleet is like is someone who's also Starfleet, and sometimes that's true, but the very nature of Starfleet is that they're usually going to understand it from lightyears away. Gabriel and I have been stationed in the same place twice. This is the longest time we’ve lived together since we were married. Kat and I had one tour together, and a couple of years when the kids were really tiny and we swung it so that we were assigned near each other, even if we weren't together. You need other people, and in our case, we’re all okay with the other relationships being sexual. Some people aren’t.”

Cornwell takes a long draught. “And that’s all you’re getting."

"Yes ma'am," Ellen says. "I-- thank you for telling me."

Cornwell shrugs a shoulder. "Someone has to."

Less than six months later, neither Lorca nor Cornwell are on the _Tiberius_. Lorca's first officer on the Wolfe, and Cornwell's been given the USS Sutematsu, her first command. Dr Mulvaney organises a party to see her off, with a cake, and everyone drinks terrible Fleet punch (Fleet punch is always terrible).

Two days later, the night before Cornwell leaves the _Tiberius_ for a few weeks leave before she takes command of the Sutematsu, Ellen finds herself sat on the floor of Cornwell's packed up quarters, getting drunk with her soon to be ex-XO.

"Ellen," Cornwell says, leaning over her from her position on a couch, "Ellen, I've got advice. You need to listen."

There's a square bottle of honey whiskey, lying on it's side. This is less of a problem than it could be, because it is also mostly empty 

"Remember," Cornwell tells her, drunk and definite. "All your captains are mortal. No one is infallible. Remember that."

“I will,” Ellen promises, eyes half-shut, watching the pattern of light blooming in Cornwell’s hair.

“You think you can trust them,” Cornwell says, “And mostly you can, but sometimes you can’t. Listen to your instincts. Sometimes you’re gonna fuck up, and sometimes your Captain is gonna fuck up, and you need to remember that that can happen.”

There's something Ellen's never heard before in her voice, even during the Orion slavers incident, something firm and bitter that makes Ellen open her eyes. Cornwell's got one leg stretched out, the other tucked against her chest.

“Did it happen to you?” Ellen asks, carefully.

“Yeah,” Cornwell says, after a moment. “It did. It was--terrible. Captains can be like gods, sometimes, and you can end up-- I was asked to do things. And if I'd been asked about them a year earlier, I would never have done them. But it seemed like the next logical step."

It feels, Ellen thinks hazily, like the sort of thing that would turn up in Fleet gossip, and she tries to fit it to a rumoured disaster, a fuck up, but none come to mind.

"Admit your agency," Cornwell says, after a brief moment. "Obeying orders isn't an excuse, not in court, and not before your conscience. Every single time, you choose to obey them. One day, you may need to choose not to. Remember that."

"I will," Ellen says. There are mandatory classes on illegal orders, part of the Academy's ethics requirements. She passed, of course. They're taught to avoid this sort of thing.

“You’re gonna go so far,” Cornwell tells her, and Ellen feels her touch her hair. “You are. And when you do, you need to remember this, all the way up to the top."

"I will," Ellen says, and tilts her head up. "You'll go far too, ma'am." Cornwell pulls her hand back, and Ellen's not drunk enough to make a complaining noise.

“Hey,” Cornwell says, “You’re not under my command anymore. You can call me Tilly.”

Her smile is soft, almost shy. Ellen’s never seen her smile like that before. She strokes Ellen’s hair again, gently, and Ellen is lying on the floor of her ex-commander’s cabin, about to say something dumb about Tilly, how she's clever and pretty and married to a man who Ellen's seen look at her like she fixed the stars in their firmament, a woman who Ellen's seen outright run through a starbase to reach her.

"Good advice--Try not to fall for anyone right now," Tilly says, more to the ceiling than to Ellen. "I did. I was a baby cadet, and she never even looked at me, as far as I can tell.”

“Have you ever asked?”

“No. I never had the chance. And then I met Gabe and Kat, of course." She gives Ellen a lopsided smile. It shows off where there's a scar on her cheek, pale enough that you don't see it until it messes with the muscles of her face.

"I'll remember," Ellen says, and swallows. "Try not to fall in love."

"Not ever," Tilly says, sitting up, "Fall in love, but don't-- argh. I should have tried this out on someone first."

"I understand," Ellen says, though she doesn't, quite, just to see Tilly's soft smile one last time before they both go to bed.

*

Ellen doesn’t tell anyone what Tilly said about Lorca. She doesn’t discuss it with her, either. Tilly comes to visit on a regular schedule, shows her images of the baby, comically small in her biocrib, and surrounded by monitors, and she doesn't bring it up either.

In between, time seems to drift. There's a little physio, not too much. Regeneration sessions.

Ellen looks up Tilly’s record. Records. She took a quick look at Sylvia Tilly’s file when she came on board, and she knows Tilly Cornwell’s, but still--

Captain Matilda Cornwell, with an Academy Record that must be faked, first plausible record the _USS Kondakova_ , when she was an ensign, with Lieutenant Gabriel Lorca, junior security officer, also on board. Promotions at regular intervals, until she’s a Commander, working on the development of the Constitution class vessels, followed by an invitation from Captain Robert April to serve as his XO, and there she met Ellen. 

Nothing Ellen doesn't already know, on thinking about it. 

Sylvia Tilly's academic record is good. There's the mark that means at least one of her parents was Starfleet-- Lt. Naomi Kazlauskė, killed in the Artemis shuttle disaster twenty years ago. Her surviving mother is a politician, who Ellen recognises from biting sound bites about the Fleet's need to decide whether they're exploratory or military. Ellen still has access to her marks, they've still got her down as one of _Discovery's_ complement, though on sick leave. Good. Nothing outright special-- she's a genius, yes, but this is Starfleet, taking the best and the brightest.

Nothing to be found.

She thinks about Lorca. Of course she does. Cornwell and Lorca, Lorca and Cornwell-- until she joined the _Discovery_ , she'd never slept with Lorca solo.

It was what-- five times, all told? Not the most significant sexual relationship of Ellen's life. Not romantic at all, based on chemistry and affection.

Lorca didn't tell her about the baby. That's what sticks in Ellen's craw. The sex makes sense, but there's no reason for him to keep the baby secret.

They lost the Buran. They lost a lot of people-- Ellen heard that Lorca lost a cousin on the _Shran_ , on the heels of one of his favourite cousins, who had a stroke last year. Grief changes you. War changes you.

She's sure Tilly's wrong. She is. But sometimes, lying in her bed, looking at the light patterns that dance across the ceiling, Ellen wonders-- what if she's right? What if the fate of the Fleet lies, at least partly, in the hands of a man who isn't even from here?

She looks at Tilly, and wonders when she started to think that. Was she expecting this all along? Who does she think Anna's father is?

She also thinks _you thought I was going to die. Everything you did for me, you did thinking I wouldn't make it to forty_.

Tilly would have let her die. 

Ellen took the classes on theory of time travel. Everyone did, it was a just in case, and they keep talking about not making changes, but--

Tilly would have let her die. 

Eventually, Ellen goes down to the neonatal ICU to meet Anna Margaret Cornwell in person, new nerves singing with every step. 

“We’re calling her Annie,” Tilly says, ready to support Ellen as she settles down in the seat next to the biocrib. Annie has a scruff of dark hair, rising into a Mohawk, and the indistinguishable features of most babies. There’s a display showing all her readings, that blips only slightly when Tilly lifts her out, and shows her off to Ellen.

There's not much Ellen can say. She's a baby. She looks less ugly than some babies Ellen's seen. She's pretty small-- still not at full gestation period, but she's stopped looking as squashed as she did in the early pictures. (Ellen considered asking exactly what happened, then realised that forceps might have been involved, and _no_.)

She smells like a baby. Ellen's never really understood why people go weak for that, and she still doesn't. Everything she feels about this kid, she feels because she cares about the kid's parents. She's working out what to say-- _Good gestation and parenting? Nice genes?_ when the door of the room swishes open, and there's a very familiar step.

“Gabriel,” Tilly says, and her voice has changed completely, tight and tense.

“I was on the station,” Lorca says, and walks into the room. "Strategy meeting. Thought I could meet Annie while I'm here."

"Well, here she is," Tilly says, and steps back a little when Lorca reaches for her.

"Don't hog her, Till," he says, and looks over at Ellen, who really doesn't want to be here, but is also very aware that standing up might take a bit of time and effort, and of just how uncomfortable Tilly is, the defensive cant of her shoulders.

"Go on, darling," he says coaxingly, "Don't make a fuss."

Tilly hands him the baby, very carefully. He takes her equally carefully, like he’s a little out of practice-- and he would be, with the kids all grown, but Tilly is looking at him like she looks at a threat. Not just a minor threat, either, someone she's wary of.

Tilly is scared of Lorca.

"Hello, beautiful," Lorca says, and he's looking down at the baby, face soft, and Ellen suddenly needs to be somewhere that isn't here.

It lends strength to her, gets her onto her feet, and she says "I'll be--" and heads out. Neither of them acknowledges it outwardly, but, as she goes, she hears Lorca start to sing, softly, "Maxwelton braes are bonnie, where early fa's the dew--"

Five minutes after she makes it back to her room, Lorca knocks on the door. 

"Left the kid already?" 

"Tilly said it was naptime," Lorca says. "Does she seem okay to you? I was wondering--"

"She seems fine," Ellen says, because this feels wrong. 

“I thought she looked tired,” Lorca says, and gives Landry a lopsided smile. “But hey, babies. Look, Landry. I wanted to let you know: there's always a place for you on Discovery. Lieutenant Tyler-- he's not a patch on you."

Ellen's not going to be on ship duty for another year. And right now, Lorca is making her skin crawl, but she nods, and smiles, and lets him walk away. 

Tilly doesn’t turn up for hours. When she does, her face is tight and drawn, her hands are shaking, and she sinks down into the chair next to Ellen’s bed like she’s taken a blow to the stomach.

Ellen-- she can’t have. Whatever’s going on, with the Captain, she can’t believe he’d hurt Tilly. And if he did-- there are cameras. Recordings.

“He recorded the lullaby,” Tilly says into the silence. “Annie Laurie. I couldn’t say no. I’ve got no excuse, and Kat doesn’t believe me, and I know you don’t either, and oh, _fuck_ , Ellen--”

She puts her hands to her face, and Ellen curls her hands in her sheets, wanting to put an arm around her, but Tilly’s so tense, it seems like she might shatter.

It feels like they sit like that for hours, Ellen unable to comfort or escape, until Tilly stands up and goes, and doesn’t come back.

Ellen’s really not expecting the visit from Admiral Cornwell. She never served under her, met her a few times, and they were friendly, but not the kind of friendly that means hospital visits with oxygenating plants. The Admiral puts it down on Ellen’s window-sill, and Ellen tries not to remember that horror film she watched about plants that strangled people in their sleep.

Cornwell asks how she is, how her recovery's going, but Ellen's pretty sure that's not why she's here, and that's confirmed when Cornwell says, "My wife. She's been visiting you."

"She has," Ellen agrees.

“Has she said anything?” Admiral Cornwell asks. “Anything-- odd?”

"You mean about the Captain," Ellen says, and Cornwell nods.

“I know that you’ve known her for a long time,” she says slowly, "I don’t know if you know--”

“That she was depressed after the twins were born?” Ellen says, because fuck’s sake. “Yeah, I know that.”

Cornwell nods, briskly. "I'm concerned about her."

"She seems to be recovering." Ellen doesn't know all the gory details, but she knows that it was gory.

"You know that's not what I mean," Cornwell says, tiredly, and Ellen realises that the Admiral hasn't used her rank, not once. She's trying to make this a conversation between occasional metamours, not between an Admiral and a Commander.

"She wasn't comfortable," Ellen says, balancing it up. "Around Captain Lorca, when he came to see the baby." 

"I see," says Admiral Cornwell. "Thank you."

Ellen isn't sure how she feels about that.

“I know you’ve met the Ensign,” Admiral Cornwell continues, “I have to ask you not to mention it to anyone.”

“I won’t, Admiral,” Ellen promises, because _Ellen’s_ fucking distracted, fuck knows what the rest of the _Discovery_ would feel. Tilly hasn’t explained how she came from knowing Ellen (Ellen being dead) to travelling in time, far enough back that she’s fifty three, has a twenty five year old daughter and was married a year before that, and how long would Lorca and Cornwell want to know someone, before they married? However much love was there, Ellen can’t imagine either of them jumping into anything.

"Take care of yourself," the Admiral adds, stiff, and heads out, back, presumably, to Tilly.

Ellen keeps trying to trace the route from Cadet Tilly to Captain Cornwell, even Commander Cornwell, but they don’t even do their hair the same. Cornwell always kept hers in a ponytail on duty, none of the fancy tricks Tilly does-did, maybe a neat bun when she was doing hands on work, wore it loose when she was on leave. 

Tilly’s enthusiastic about engineering, mycology, and Ellen's seen Cornwell explain some minor scientific point, hands moving. She's a science specialist, and Ellen knows she's published papers.

Ellen's always looked up to Matilda Cornwell, thought that Sylvia Tilly needs time and seasoning and much better taste in friends. Even knowing that she's right doesn't help.

She could go and find Cornwell, maybe. Go to her room, or down to the NICU, except that feels like an invasion of Tilly's privacy. Ellen's better angels want Tilly to come to her, but she also wants to check, to know that Tilly's okay, and even knowing that they're in a fucking hospital, their vitals under constant observation, doesn't really help. Tilly’s been avoiding her since the awkward scene with Lorca, though she must know Lorca came to see Ellen after.

After three days alone, she breaks. The hospital directory sends her to Cornwell's room without any problems, and the door opens at her chime, Cornwell telling her to enter, and Ellen's all the way into the room before she realises Cornwell's halfway through a comm call.

“Oh,” Ellen says, “I’m sorry--” and the young woman on the screen says “Hi Commander Landry!”

“I’ve told you to call me Ellen,” Ellen says, reflexively. Rachel Cornwell has Tilly’s pointed chin, and high forehead, but the colouring’s all Lorca, except for a hint of red in her wild curls. Right now, she’s got her hair piled up on top of her head, and even Ellen can tell she’s tired and washed out. She’s jittery with it, hands moving to tug at her hair, her own fingers, and occasionally, she goes off on a tangent, or just forgets what she was saying, and shakes her head to bring herself back.

"I can go--" Ellen says, and Tilly shakes her head.

"No, stay."

"Do," Rachel echoes. "We're nearly finished anyway-- no rest for the wicked!"

“Have you been sleeping?” Tilly asks, frowning.

“Yeah,” Rachel says, with a weary smile. “Weird dreams, is all. Last week I fell asleep on my PADD.”

“Get some sleep,” Tilly scolds, gently. “I know you don’t do nine hours, but--”

“It’s law school, Mama. No one sleeps in law school,” Rachel says, and kisses the tips of two fingers, presses them to the camera. “I have to go. Those papers won’t write themselves, and I said I’d meet Libby at the library.”

“Oh,” Tilly says, “Well, if I’m keeping you from _Libby_ at the _library_.”

“Ugh, Mama!” Rachel protests, and Tilly smiles at her.

"And call your grandmothers."

"I don't understand why you and Mom and Daddy think I can't remember that on my own! I called them! And Sarah, and the twins. And Auntie Gru, and Uncle Finn, and Uncle Simon, and--"

Ellen only notices the change in Tilly's expression, at the mention of Lorca, because she's in the room.

"Your father's been comming you?"

"Yeah, every two weeks, same as always. He's talking about coming down next time he's on leave-- do you think you can manage it? Bring the baby?"

"I'll see," Tilly says, guarded, and Rachel recognises that, loses a little spark. 

"Yeah. Right."

"You know travel's restricted."

"Yeah," Rachel says, and kisses the tips of her fingers, touches them to the camera. "Take care, Mama. Feel better soon, Commander!" She ends the call.

"He's a very attentive father," Tilly says into the quiet. "I know he's always had more difficulty, with Ivan and Rachel. Rachel's too like Francesca. Like my mother, too, I can tell you that now. Ambitious. When she was eight, she said she wanted to be President of the Federation. And Ivan's only ever wanted to join the Civil Service. Over the last few years, things have improved."

"I see," Ellen says.

"Rachel has nightmares, though. She thinks I don't know, but I do. She's never slept much, but recently I think she goes for days. If I ask if anything’s wrong, it never is.” Tilly shuts her eyes. “So what am I supposed to do, when she’s lying to me?”

“I see,” Ellen repeats, and swallows. “Tilly?”

“Mm?”

“I believe you,” Ellen says. “About everything.”

*

Tilly and Annie are discharged from the hospital the day before Kat’s due to leave. It means that, in addition to the pre-departure protocol, Kat’s also making sure that the nursery she built in the second bedroom actually works for the baby, though at least this time she could get someone else to set it up.

When Sarah was born, Tilly put her crib together, Kat seven months pregnant and watching as she said desperately, “I’m an engineer, I have _rebuilt warp drives_ with _duct tape and WD40_ ,” glaring at the IKEA instructions, until Kat laughed herself into breathlessness and heartburn. When the twins were born, they needed two new cribs-- easier than transporting Sarah’s from Starbase Four to the San Francisco Yards, where Tilly was on the engineering design team for the new Constitution Class ships, but they were in San Francisco then, and instead of going shopping, they got them from two of Gabriel’s Earth based cousins with attics. Rachel came along just as the twins were transitioning into toddler beds. This is the third nursery Kat’s built, different every time, but it's the first one that's felt like this.

Ellen Landry's moving into their spare room, when she's released. There's something going on there that Kat doesn't understand, something not just based on the physical relationship Landry had with Tilly and Gabriel in the past, the bond she feels to Gabriel, but talking to Tilly is a thorny path right now, and they keep coming back to the same place: that Tilly is convinced Gabriel is an impostor. That he's been an impostor since before Annie was conceived.

Tilly’s not telling people, not after Kat didn’t believe her, and Kat doesn’t want to tell people either, not until they have a diagnosis, something more than the doctor saying that it could be postpartum psychosis, or could be something else. She should tell Gabe, she really should, but Tilly was so desperate when she begged her not to, and Kat hated seeing her so distressed, and her being the only person Tilly's talked to makes it the only thing they can talk about.

Her last night on Starbase Forty Two, Annie is the only one who sleeps. Tilly moved her bassinet to the main bedroom, close enough to the bed that she can find her in the night, and Kat lies on her side to watch her sleep. Tilly lies along Kat’s back, face buried in the back of Kat’s shoulder.

This is another thing that isn't the same. Their partings have been tender, their partings have been passionate, on one occasion, just before Tilly joined the _Tiberius_ , Rachel got into the cheese-with-lactose and spent the entire night screaming with pain, and occasionally puking on both of them, while the others, keyed up by everything, bounced around their quarters and threw separate tantrums, and by the time Tilly left, Kat wasn't joking as much as she pretended when she suggested putting all four of them out the airlock on her way up. There's never been this silence, though. This distance, like Tilly's put up a wall that Kat can't get through, and Kat is lying to her husband because of Tilly, and she hates it.

In the morning, she kisses Tilly goodbye in the kitchen. Annie's in a baby bouncer, grabbing furiously at a teddy that's just out of reach, and Kat kisses her first, her soft little cheek, memorises all the things that are going to change before she gets back, the eyes whose colour will steady, the hair that will probably fall out. Annie blinks at her, and Kat runs a finger down her cheek.

"I love you," she promises. "I'll see you soon."

Annie just blinks again. She's still working on focusing. Object permanence is months away. She'll forget Kat as soon as Kat walks out of the room.

Kat straightens, and turns around to Tilly, standing up from her place at the table.

"I love you," she says, and kisses her, square on the mouth, trying to put everything she’s feeling, everything she can’t say, into it-- _We’ll get through this, we’ll all get through this, it will all be okay_. Tilly kisses her back, fingers laced with Kat’s, squeezing, and when they separate, Kat rests her forehead against hers.

“If I ask you not to go,” Tilly says, “If I beg you--”

"No," Kat says, and kisses the corner of her mouth. "Don't. You know I have to."

Tilly’s fingers tighten around hers, almost tight enough to hurt, and there’s a tenseness in her mouth, tighter when Kat unpeels herself gently.

"I love you," Tilly says, "Be careful, Kat, please be careful. Of Gabe, of Ash Tyler--"

"I will definitely be careful of someone recently escaped from a Klingon prison," Kat says, and kisses her again, one last time.

The message from Admiral Terral is--- unexpected. It comes through late night ship time, while Kat's going through paperwork, interspersed with writing a message to Sarah: at this point in the war, non-military subspace transmissions are more trouble than they're worth, and it gives Kat more of a chance to weigh her words, to balance what she's saying and not saying.

“I have noted,” Terral says, looking deeply disapproving, “That Humans can be more willing to accept logic from their spouses. Captain Lorca’s behaviour is both illogical, and dangerous to the functioning of the Fleet. We cannot lose the _Discovery_.”

With the loss of the _Glenn_ , they really can’t. There’s no one like Straal and Stamets left: Kat knows from their respective personnel files, and also because Charlie once spent an entire summer obsessed with astro-mycology, and still keeps track of his astro-mycological heroes, even now that he’s focused decisively on physics.

At some point, Gabe really needs to tell Charlie that Stamets is on the _Discovery_ , before Charlie finds out by accident and is heartbroken at the closeness of his idol. Admittedly, from the sound of things he’s probably also going to be heartbroken when his idol is brought up before the ethics board on charges of self-experimentation and unauthorised genetic manipulation and generally being a mad scientist.

"I'll talk to him," Kat agrees. "He's a reasonable man, usually. He'll understand."

"I hope you are correct," says Terral, and signs off.

She isn't. Oh, Gabriel seems like he'll accept it at first, in public, but once they're alone together, things go sideways. He evades, distracts, all the hin

"Tell me how Annie is," he says, leaning back. "It's been a whole week, and I don't think the pictures are getting through to me."

"Fine," Kat says, and licks her lips. "She's--fine. The doctors are pleased with her progress, and with Tilly's." For a moment, the next sentence hovers on her tongue, but-- _She thinks you're an imposter_ doesn’t exactly flow easily off the tongue.

She should tell him. If Tilly’s wrong-- and of course she’s wrong-- then she’s ill. She needs their support.

But she's also scared of Gabe, and Kat doesn't want to betray that, doesn't want to deny her right to be afraid.

"How are you finding Cadet Tilly?" she asks instead.

The Cadet’s so young. Kat keeps trying to work out when they’ll meet, when Tilly will travel back in time and stumble onto the _Kondakova._ It must be soon, but surely she wasn’t this young when they met? Or maybe Kat feel like that if she saw pictures of any of them, if she opened her file, or Gabriel’s, from that date.

Cadet Tilly’s gorgeous, of course, absolutely toothsome, but that’s not new. Weird, sure, but not new.

"Let me copy some of the pictures I took before I left," she says, when Gabe finishes, his eyes cast down like he thinks Kat doesn't know that he probably wants to eat Tilly alive, the way he did when they met the first time, even if it is a hundred times more inappropriate.

Things go downhill from there. "Rules are for admirals and back offices. I'm out there trying to win a war," Gabriel snaps, and it's everything Kat can do not to say _for fuck's sake_ out loud.

"Stop trying to analyse me!" he finishes, and Kat raises both her eyebrows at him, because _really_. 

“I want to talk to my wife,” he says, after a moment, “Not to a fucking _doctor_.”

Kat breathes out, sharp, aware that she’s annoyed and showing it, but this is her husband, and if she can’t display emotions at him, she can’t do it to anyone. 

“Gabriel--”

“Can we not?” he asks, and reaches for her hand. “Can we just-- find something else to do? It’ll be more interesting than arguing, that’s for sure.”

“Okay,” she says, after a moment, and takes her badge off.

And then she wakes up, and Gabriel is on top of her with a fucking phaser, a phaser he had under his pillow, that he pulled out when she touched his back, a gesture she's made a thousand times. 

“You need help,” she says, desperate, and fuck, they probably all need help, family therapy for everyone except Annie.

"Don't take my ship away from me. She's all I got. Please, I'm begging you."

That’s what decides her, in the end. _She’s all I got_ , like he doesn’t have Kat, have Tilly, have the kids.

They deserve better. They all deserve better. Including Gabe, who Kat has loved for so long.

"I'll make a recommendation when I get back," she says, feeling exhausted, and prepares to go and try for peace.

It goes wrong, of course.

Her first thought, when she wakes up, is _Tilly was right_. She was right, when she told Kat to be careful, and she was right when she told her that the Gabriel-- it wasn't her Gabriel.

Gabriel had a leather jacket, when they first got together, soft and warm against Kat’s skin, but once he came up behind Tilly in it, and she flinched, for a second, before she got herself under control, and he never wore it again.

Tilly knew a man, once, who looked like Gabe, and walked like Gabe, and was a predator. And Kat’s gone to bed with him, and feels a little sick from it.

Tilly went to bed with him too, of course. Maybe Tilly had his child, and Kat doesn't understand that, she can't understand that, and she tells herself that she'll ask Tilly why one day, because she has to.

Tilly will take it to Terral, probably. Maybe Admiral Drake, or Robert April, her old Captain, because Kat believes in Tilly the way she believes in the laws of physics, and someone will believe her.

Except Kat didn't. Tilly had been so quiet about her past. "I can't say," she told Kat, the first time they met, when Gabe went to the bar to get them more drinks. "I know you have questions but I can't say. For the integrity of the timeline."

Kat hadn't cared, then, and hadn't cared when they got married, Gabe couching it in terms of sheer practicality _I want her to have a family, Kat, I want her to have connections,_ like he wasn't completely fucking goopy over both of them, and they weren't goopy right back. And Tilly never said what she knew, what she didn't.

Even when the war came, she didn't let on that she'd been expecting it, and Kat-- Kat thought she hadn't, because she got pregnant when the _Buran_ went down, when they still thought the war would be over soon, and who would bring a baby into that?

But she had, and she did and she was right, and now Kat is alone in the stinking dark of a Klingon prison ship, and that man, that false-Gabe, is getting his hands on her babies.

She doesn't know how long it's been. Is Annie the false-Gabe's, or was it her Gabriel who fathered her? Who was it who sat down with Rachel and her comparative table of law schools? Who teased Charlie about all the time he spent in the lab last semester? Who talked with Ivan about politics, so that Ivan's face lit up? Who shook Margot's hand, when Sarah introduced them, and told Sarah how sorry he was when the _Buran_ went down?

When L'Rell offers her a hand, Kat takes it. She'd take it from the Devil, right now.

*

After everything, heading down to sickbay is a bit of an anti-climax. Michael wouldn't have gone, but Saru looked at her and Ash, looked at Lorca's back as he stared out of the viewscreen, and told Tilly to escort them down, and Michael can't say no to her determined face, as she chivvies them down like a herding creature.

The sickbay's filled with action-- Dr Pollard dealing with Admiral Cornwell, Dr Culber berating Lieutenant Stamets lovingly and reminding him to lie still for his brain scan-- but Nurse Vralix descends on Michael with a forbidding expression and a tricorder, separating her neatly from Ash, who is taken off by Nurse Doril.

"Admiral Cornwell wants to speak with you," Vralix tells her, "She's very insistent. She's refusing to allow full sedation until she does." Vralix's facial ridges show exactly what he thinks of this sort of behaviour, and, as soon as he's pronounced her healthy, he takes Michael over to the privacy screened area where they've got the Admiral.

They've put her in a brace, hooked her up to monitors, and cleaned her face up a bit, but she doesn't look much better, even with the painkillers Michael guesses she's been given.

"Go," Cornwell bites out, looking over at Pollard and Vralix, and Pollard says, "Admiral--"

"I know, and you can come back in in five minutes, but I need to speak to Burnham alone, for reasons of operational security." 

"Fine," Pollard says, "Five minutes and not a second more."

She and Vralix step out, taking stations just outside the screen. Michael and the Admiral can see out, but no one can say in, and no one can hear what they say.

"They're taking me to Starbase 42," Cornwell says, "Lucky for me, there was a medical transport in the area." She takes a breath. "About Captain Lorca."

"He's--pleased," Michael says, carefully. "About the destruction of the Ship of the Dead."

"I'd guessed," Cornwell says, and breathes in and out. "You can't trust him."

Michael blinks. "Admiral?"

"I'm telling you this," Cornwell says, low and fervent despite the privacy screen, "Because I know I can trust you. I know what you're capable of."

It's like a blow to the stomach. "You think because I betrayed one Captain," Michael says carefully, "I'll betray another."

"No," Cornwell says. "I think you'll do what needs to be done. Gabriel Lorca isn't our Gabriel Lorca. He's from another universe. And he's not going to take you home."

"I should call Dr Pollard," Michael says, and Cornwell sighs.

"I'm not asking you do to anything now. Just-- to know. To be aware. They're taking me to the transport, and you're coming after, and if you make it safely to Starbase 42, that’s great. My marriage is in serious trouble, but that’s all. If you don’t-- it’s because of him, and I need you to know that. Don't trust him. And don't trust Tyler either."

"Lieutenant Tyler has just rescued--"

“I know you want to trust him,” Cornwell says, “The same way I wanted to trust Gabriel. You can’t. _Listen to me_ , Burnham."

Michael swallows. "What do you want me to do. If this does happen."

Cornwell smiles at her, a little. "I've been told that you'll know."

**Author's Note:**

> This fic makes use of Sarah Cornwell from Mother In Law's Tongue, but does not (obviously) take place in the same universe.


End file.
